My knees are so watery, I barely make it to the Buick’s driver’s side door, and once I’m there, I nearly drop the keys … twice.

Desperate to put some distance between myself and Ronan, I barely notice the ovenlike heat inside the car as I slide the key into the ignition and give it a crank.

The engine grumbles, the dashboard lights flicker, and then nothing.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter as I prepare to give the key another twist. “I can’t take this right now.”

The same thing happens. I draw a deep breath and fight the urge to give the car a good hard slap on the dashboard. The Buick is old, but I’ve taken good care of it and it’s never given me any problems, so why now?

“Hey.” Ronan moves to stand next to the window and gestures for me to roll it down.

I follow his instructions and try not to think about how our current positions put his cock, which I’ve just been rubbing all over, right at eye level. I tighten my fingers around the steering wheel with the hopes that it will stop me from reaching out the window and running them down the length of Ronan’s package.

What is it about the guy that turns me into some sort of horny teenager every time he’s around?

“Pop the hood and I’ll try to figure out what’s wrong,” Ronan says.

“You know how to fix cars?” I lean forward and grab the hood release lever.

“Hey, I’m not just a pretty face,” Ronan calls over his shoulder. “I have dual degrees in both aero-engineering and aero-mechanics.”

That surprises me. Most of the pilots I know have some knowledge about how to maintain a plane but don’t have anything close to a formal education on the subject.

I lean my head out the open window. “But this is a Buick, not a plane.”

“Stop trying to split hairs.” Ronan leans over the engine block. “Crank the engine.”

This time the engine gives one sad little cough before going silent.

“It sounds like it’s getting worse.”

“Yeah.” Ronan closes the hood and returns to my window. A strip of something that looks like rubber hangs in his hands. “Your alternator belt is shot.”

I frown. “I know about the alternator.” I knew the car has one but don’t have a clue about what it does. “I didn’t know it used a belt.”

Ronan lifts the shredded belt for me to see. “This belt helps the alternator generate the electricity needed to start your car. It’s not a big deal, and it’s something I can fix, but I don’t carry spare belts with me so we’ll have to go to an auto parts store first.”

“Um…” I glance at my watch. “How long is it going to take?”

“Once I have a spare belt, it’ll only take me twenty minutes or so to put it on and have your car up and running.” Ronan cocks his head to one side. “Got a hot date or something?”

“Not exactly. I promised my sister I’d take her somewhere. She’s been really looking forward to it. I hate to let her down.” Again. I reach for my cell phone. Given how tight my finances are right now, I hate calling Uber, but I don’t have many other options. At least they’re cheaper than taking a taxi all the way to my house.

“I can give you a lift wherever you need to go,” Ronan offers.

I bite my lip. “I don’t know. It’s the first day off you’ve had in a long time. Don’t you have someplace you need to be? Something you want to do?”

“Nothing that beats shuttling a beautiful damsel in distress around.”

The surge of pleasure he triggers by calling me beautiful almost cancels out the sharp bite of also being referred to as a distressed damsel. The only reason I don’t call him on it is that at this moment, it happens to be true.

“Come on, Cassie. You don’t want to keep your sister waiting.” Ronan reaches for the Buick’s door and pops the handle. The door springs open. “Close your window and lock the doors so we can be on the way.”

The thought of the disappointment on Sally’s face if I get back too late to take her to Lopeck’s is all the incentive I need. I let myself out of the Buick.

Playing the role of a gentleman, Ronan opens the passenger door of his Chevy pickup and holds it while I climb into the cab. By the time I fasten my seat belt, he’s settled into the driver’s seat and has the truck running.

I send a quick text to my mom, letting her know that my car was down for the count and that I’ll need to borrow hers this afternoon.

He pulls out and points the truck’s front bumper toward the highway before sliding a sideways glance in my direction. “I’m starting to figure you out.” There’s a note of pride in his voice.

“Oh?” If he has, he’s the first. Half the time, I can’t figure myself out.

“I made a mistake on our flight to Morocco,” Ronan continues. “I didn’t realize how desperately you need to remain in control.”

My eyes widen. “What are you talking about?”

“Your independent streak. I didn’t realize that it’s even wider than Texas. Which is funny, considering it’s one of the things I like most about you.”

Ronan flicks on his blinker and takes the exit that leads to Covington.

“It didn’t click until you pushed me up against your ole Buick. That’s when I realized the only time you let me get close is when you’re calling the shots.”

I haven’t thought about it that way before, but now that he’s mentioned it, I can see where he might be right. I push even further back in my memory and realize that it’s been a pattern for all of my adulthood. I’ve been the one to call the shots.

“You don’t like losing control,” Ronan continues talking, “and when I laid out the terms while we were going to Morocco, well, I wasn’t trying to take the control out of your hands, but I can see how the way I handled things would have put you on edge.”

Unsure how to respond, I stare down at my lap.

“And the way I pushed yesterday when we were at the airport probably didn’t help much either, I imagine.”

“I was preparing to call things off before we landed,” I tell him, my voice soft. “Turn right at the next crossroad.”

Ronan turns on his blinker and the truck starts to slow in preparation for the turn. “Can I ask why?”

I don’t want to talk about this. The entire conversation makes my stomach turn summersaults and causes my heart to race. Still, Ronan has been nothing but an absolute sweetheart and the only thing he’s asking me for is an explanation for my behavior. I suppose it’s the least I can do.

“I don’t understand, or particularly like, the way you make me feel.” I glance out the windshield. “The next right.”

The corners of Ronan’s mouth kick up in a small smile. “How I make you feel?”

“It’s hard to describe. Whenever you’re around, I get all jumpy and nervous. I don’t know how I’m supposed to act, what to say.” I interlock my fingers. Talking about feelings isn’t my strong suit. “I don’t like it.”

I don’t even want to get into the complicated state of my home life.

Ronan exhales and shoots a quick glance my way. “What if I tell you that I have the exact same reaction to you?”

I take a second to contemplate his words. “It doesn’t make me any less nervous. Take the next left.”

“I like that you’re nervous.” Ronan swings the truck to the left. “Yesterday, when you drove off after your half-assed break-up speech, I was pissed as hell. At that point, I vowed I wasn’t giving up on you without a fight. I spent the better part of my night trying to come up with a plan to make you see, once and for all, that you should give me a chance, but I’ve changed my mind.”

The muscles in my shoulders bunch. If he plans on forcing me into going out with him, he’ll live to regret it. On the other hand, the idea that he’s about to say he’s no longer interested makes my stomach hurt. “Turn onto the third driveway on the left.”

“I still want to see you, to get to know you. I need to explore this thing that’s happening between us as much as I need to draw breath, but I’m not going to rush you. You’re free to choose how fast or slow we go. All I ask is that you don’t stop this thing before it has a chance to start. Can you do that?”

The truck slows as its nose approaches my driveway. In a second, Ronan is about to find out just how messed-up my personal life is.

I twist as far as the seatbelt allows and stare straight at Ronan. “I’ll give you my answer in about five minutes. Assuming you still want it.”